Six Roses and Whiskey
by rwbybomb21
Summary: A collection of loosely connected One Shots, from the angsty to the fluffy, detailing the love life of a female Courier Six and Rose of Sharon Cassidy- AKA Cass. Not all chapters are in chronological order.
1. Jealousy

**So, this is gonna be a series of one shots, all connected, but not all in order.**

 **I don't own Fallout; if I did, I'd make romancing your companions possible, and Veronica would be** _ **way**_ **cuter.**

(^^^^^^)

" _What would be, and what will always be, are two different things. Love will always be the force that brings two longing souls together, while friendship is what would be a driving force to survive...or a twisting dagger forcing death."_

 _-By: Me-_

(^^^^^^)

The misted sun threw a hurdle of light in the eyes of the hooded woman as she exited the Lucky 38 casino to get some fresh air from all the robots that surrounded the area; robotics were her specialty, along with anything mechanical, but to have them droning around day in day out? A real ball ache if you asked her, though with her tendency to speak too much and the fact that she loved the machines she currently loathed, you'd ignore her out of embarrassment for being around her. She was pacing around outside for some time, taking in the atmosphere of the strip before heading back in , Victor the robot letting her in as she turned around for one last look at Vegas and all of its corruption and greed, and what it would be like if it were independent. Free.

She knew such a day would not come, as the Legion was practically on Vegas' doorstep, and the NCR would turn everywhere into a long forgotten time that no one wants; not even the NCR soldiers doing all the work while the politicians control everything want to do what they were right now. The Brotherhood of Steel's ambitions were big, but pointless as no one is scared of them anymore, power armour and fancy laser weapons holding little weight over the advanced wasteland of today. At this, Veronica sighed as she turned to enter the elevator and rolled up the shaft that led to the suite that the courier had kept for her in case she ever needed to use it while she was gone.

Why the Courier had given it to her, Boone, ED-E and Cass, she will never know, and neither will anyone else, only the Courier. Speaking of which, it might be a good time to add that the Courier has been gone for almost a week after going to clear out a vault full of fiends: drugged up psychopaths hell bent on getting their next fix of Jet or Psycho, whilst simultaneously killing everything their drugged up minds perceived as a threat. She- as did the other companions that she had gathered- worried for the Courier, even Cass seemed generally distraught for her as she had been missing, though Cass was the first of her many friends to join her on her adventures. She took no one with her to that vault and for all they knew she could be dead. ED-E simply whirred around in the air as he normally did, not even paying attention to the Courier's disappearance.

She had tried to distract herself by asking Cass a question she will never soon forget asking. "Can I talk to you?" She quizzed the cowgirl. She had never asked her for anything as her trusty power fist solved most of the problems in the Mojave; well, all except this one. Though, she reminisced slightly, there was one issue she couldn't solve by punching it...the Courier being some sort of freaky master with a sword, Veronica and she sparred one day; Veronica left with a couple of broken knuckles and a swollen right foot.

She reluctantly nodded, following Veronica out of the room and into hers so they could talk away from earshot. Boone didn't even notice them leave and sat on the couch sipping a beer for a lengthy amount of time, savouring the flavour before the thoughts of the Courier's disappearance surfaced in his mind again.

While Craig Boone would not say he and the Courier were best friends, they were close, him being the second companion she had hired to travel with her. Sipping on his pre-war distilled beer, Boone began a trip down memory lane, an unpleasant one showing him the faults he had, the things he had done; he vaguely saw through the haze of beer, a picture of a soft smile and lips wording _'it doesn't matter'_ and a different voice saying _'It will be okay'_. Then he saw the Courier's face, soft and pale with no blemishes, and wondered what she had said to him after he finally caved one day and regaled her with the tale of how he had to shoot his pregnant wife.

Oh, that's right, she didn't say anything, simply smiling sadly and patting his back when he finally broke and cried- for the first time in fifteen years he cried tears of sadness. He'd cried tears of pain, ecstasy, anger, but sadness was something he hadn't felt in a very long time.

And then the memories drowned in the haze of alcohol, which soon became a puddle, then a stream, then an ocean; a place where he could tie a cinder block to his feet, and drown his sorrows.

While Boone was on the brink of passing out, Veronica closed the door to their room before turning on the lights and motioning for Cass to sit down, straggling up a seat for her and herself.

"So Veronica, waddya wanna to talk about?"

"Anything...different." she replied. "Girly stuff, I guess." A frown formed on her face; was that the best her addled mind could do? A distraction of playing a friendly game of Caravan could have been better, maybe a game of poker or blackjack would have sufficed as an alternative; anything would have done better than 'Girly stuff, I guess'.

Cass looked confused, scratching her head with one hand after the other lifted her rawhide cowboy-looking hat. "Not sure I get ya." She spoke slowly, confusion clear in her surprisingly sober-sounding voice; no slurring, no flushed red cheeks...the Courier was changing everyone's lives, it seemed.

"You know..." Veronica looked stumped as to how, exactly, explain what she meant, before a flash went off. "Um, I guess...what kinds of things do regular girly-girls talk about?"

"I see... well then, let's start with friends. Who are yours?"

Veronica looked distraught as all her friends had either disappeared or were in the BoS bunker."Does Elder McNamara count? He's been like a father to me. So has the medic at the bunker and the scribes." She listed off the amount of friends to Cass, finally stopping when she reached the Courier's name, swallowing as she said it "And Six too, I think".

"...Okay, you certainly don't lack for friends." At this, they both gave a weak laugh before she continued. "So...hobbies... I swear if you say punching and reading about punching, _I'll_ punch _you_."

"Well..." she said, stifling a chuckle at the previously made joke from Cass. "I like to read old pre-war books, and like to learn different languages." She continued: "I also learn different religions, and I'm trying to follow Six's, but it's too _complicated_." The last part she whined out, earning a small chuckle and the shake of a head from Cass.

"I think...I think she said her religion was...crap, what was it...? Uh, I think it was something to do with a...Kami? No, no, that wasn't it...God, I think?" Cass' voice as trying to sound inquisitive and confused, but failed; she already had an inkling as to why, exactly, Veronica was distracted, but failed to see why coming to her for a distraction would help, considering she was...'entangled' with the objet of her distraction in the first place.

"Wait...God!?" Veronica gained a look of shock and glee mixed together as she anxiously awaited an answer.

"You didn't know? She doesn't follow it a lot, but she does believe in certain...things, I guess." She shot a look of smugness at her intelligence- or Veronica's lack thereof- concerning the Courier back at the beaming and smiling Veronica. "Next thing: crushes."

At that word Veronica looked hesitant to answer and instead opted for the subtler approach."What?!"

"You heard, girly. Who do you like, and _please_ don't say me." She groaned, looking as if the world had turned on her. "Damn headache...ah, right, you know I'm with Six, right?" Veronica nodded, looking down for a second before looking back up with a neutral expression. "Your face says otherwise."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." She childishly crossed her arms and looked the other way, tilting her chin to regain some of the lost dignity form being caught out.

"...Course not..." Cass decided to break the now tensing atmosphere dredging into the room by coughing, causing Veronica to hesitantly look her way. "So, crushes _other than her_?"

Veronica's cheeks seemed to be flushed with embarrassment. "Y-You tell me first."

"Oh, so you want to play it like that? I _did_ just say I was with her, but I guess...if I went straight, I'd go for Boone." Lifting a whiskey bottle to her lips absently, Cass watched as a look of shock, though some parts of fanatic enjoyment of the moment mixed in, spread across the younger girl's pale face. It reminded her of Six's pale cheeks, often compared by her to the colour of snow; that comment never failed to turn them from white to red.

"Boone!?" she nearly shouted and her voice went to the quiet, whispering state it was in before. Thankfully he had not heard her shout; it would just be plain embarrassing if the ex-NCR sniper did.

"Ssssshhhh, yes it's Boone. I like men with dark pasts." She shot a look of amusement to Veronica, it was obviously a lie; this girl was too impressionable. _'Gonna have to beat it out of her'_. "So, what do you look for? You know, in a woman?"

"I suppose... quiet ones, but not too quiet. Knows how to handle themselves and is _very_ mysterious." At the questioning looks from Cass, the Brotherhood scribe grew defensive, a large crease forming on her face. "Hey! I like them mysterious, okay!?"

"So, like who?" she saw the distraught face on Veronica's features as she tugged on her hood, lowering it further over her face. "You got to tell me."

"I tell you and you promise not to tell anyone else? At least, not without my permission. Got it?" she stopped and thought for a minute, a confused frown on her pale face before it lit up again as if a light bulb had just gone off in her brain. "Oh, and don't get mad!"

Cass gave a nod towards her, showing that she understood what the woman was getting at and respected her privacy.

"It's..." swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to muster the strength to complete the sentence, but the strength she mustered vanished in a haze of panic. Cass had a short temper, known for it in fact, so how would she react? She promised not to get angry or go nuts or something, but you could never tell. Then there was the fact that she could see a frown forming on Cass' face, but as soon as it was there, it vanished in a glassy look of understanding.

Cass could see the turmoil on Veronica's face, the look of dread for something, and figured it had something to do with her; what with the look being sent her way, it wasn't hard to guess. But why? She'd told Veronica that she knew of her little 'Courier crush' as she named it, and that she was flattered and could care less. Was that it? The person she had a crush on- or still, if her guess was correct- was the Courier?

Veronica looked distressed now, a look of something abject to fear spreading on her face. Cass seemed to take a sort of pity on her- perhaps telling her stories of her old 'Whiskey Rose' days was a bad idea.

She placed a hand on Veronica's shoulder, noting how the girl flinched under her touch. "Hey, I ain't mad, it's Six, ain't it?"

Veronica nodded, relief flooding her system but a look of wariness, as if stepping on eggshells inside a sleeping Deathclaw's lair. "Yeah...you...you don't mind?"

"Naw, I have to deal with people hitting on her all the time, it doesn't bother me." Cass took on a tone of warning, looking at her with a mix of predatory likeness to a hunting cat, and a look of warning. "Just don't try and take 'er from me, she's all mine."

"Yeah, sure...but she's hot."

"I know, kid, I know."


	2. Past As Painful as The Wind

**Been a while, I know. I have to thank the first- and so far only- guy to review this story...if only I could remember your name.**

 **Anyway, you know who you are. So, this is the origin of Six! Figured I'd get it out before anyone complains later on.**

 **If any chapters are connected to any previous ones, it will be stated. If it is not stated, then it isn't connected or a continuation.**

 **SPOILERS: Contains mentions of Old World Blues DLC, Dead Money DLC, Lonesome Road DLC.**

 **(^^^^^^)**

Sometimes she'd wake up to them, _their_ voices echoing around her, pleading with her to escape, to run. Her eyes would widen and her breathing would quicken and her chest would feel as though she'd inhaled fire; that's what the cloud felt like when she breathed the first puffs of it in- fire spilling down her throat and into her lungs and suffocating her with every wheezing breath. It was a red, thick mist that threatened to suffocate her with every breath taken, and she'd sometimes panic and hold her breath like she used to, counting thirty seconds before deeming it safe to breathe again.

Sometimes she'd wake up screaming and kicking the Ghosts off of her, pulling imaginary guns out of nowhere and pulling triggers that only she could see, only she could feel; then she'd shut her eyes tight, trying, oh she really did try, to ignore the rattling sound of the bear traps on those...those _things'_ arms. She could see their suits, hanging limply from whatever bodies they did have, green globes glowing from beneath the shelter that their radiation hoods provided. She could hear the inhumane screech that they made when she downed them; oh yes, they didn't die. Well, they did when you sliced them apart, ripping them to shreds and pulling arms off and dismembering them in the most horrific ways possible, light green irradiated blood gushing from the wounds.

Sometimes she'd simply awaken in the dark, reminding her of the times that she'd slept with Christina in one of the only places that wasn't touched by the cloud; she'd keep her company, holding the mute's hand as she kicked and opened her mouth in silent screams in her sleep. Sometimes she'd forgo sleep altogether, just sitting there with her trusty Police Pistol watching over Dean Domino and Dog- or God, whichever one decided to leave the 'cage'. The first sign of two green orbs glowing in the distance and she'd rattle off four bullets, each finding their mark in the things' head, blowing it apart and providing a brief respite. Then the ghosts around her would hear the noise, come running in screeching like banshees from hell. Then they'd be forced to move again.

Six couldn't even listen to a radio anymore, despising them, keeping distance with a glare on her face whenever one was near- she used to _love_ them, the sound of the Mojave Radio station's gentle country-like music filling her ears, or the smooth undertones of Mr New Vegas' voice lulling her and calming her down when things got tough. Now all she heard was static; static and beeping, the god awful beeping! She'd look at a radio- beep- with a glare in her eyes, subtly shifting backwards, away from the mini death machine- beep. The toaster at Big Mountain didn't want to kill her, and that had a penchant for burning things, but the radios she used to love so much- beep-beep- threatened her very life- Beep-beep-beep.

The cloud would surface through cracks in the windows and holes in the ceilings, calling to her, begging her to inhale just a little more of its toxic red mist. She'd stayed far away from the rooms with radios in, like the kitchen and the room with the massive pool table in it- Beep-beep-beep-beep- and she'd put four .44 magnum rounds into the one in her own room. Six had taken to keeping a revolver by her side at all times- the Police Pistol had saved her so many times, almost as if it had a mind of its own, that she'd taken to creating her own version and keeping at her hip, just in case.

Then any form of static would set her off- breathing would quicken, eyes would widen in fear and apprehension- and her eyeballs would shift from left to right with worrying speed, searching for the source of the terrible static noise- Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-and then the beeping would speed up in her mind, reminding her to flee or shoot the damn thing, and then her breathing would quicken even more, borderline hyperventilation. The beeping would reach its crescendo in her ears, her hands tugging at the area around her neck, the bomb collar fixed to it in her mind. It continued to glow an angry red as the beep continued. She tugged, pulled, struggled, scratched, but the beeping just kept going and then- nothing.

Six wasn't in the middle of the Madre anymore, she was in her room; she wasn't ripping apart Ghosts that released horrific noises that plagued her everyday life, she was lay in her bed; she wasn't gripping a Police Pistol with wide eyes and cursing every time a Ghost got back up, she was gripping her blankets with sweat dripping from her pale forehead.

She'd spent four weeks in that horrific place; a month of waking up and wondering if you were going to die from the pre-war radios, the collar malfunctioning, Elijah- that damned Elijah, she'd felt gleeful when she'd put a bullet in his head- or the Ghosts. They were the worst, those things scuttling around and screeching like banshees. Her Police Pistol only did so much, and her lightning quick reflexes and sharp instincts had saved her life more than the Pistol itself had.

Today was the two month anniversary of her escape from that awful place, two months of freedom.

Right now though, instead of in her bed, she was currently walking along a trail of the Mojave's desert, hoping, praying, that something would just come along and kill her. But every time an enemy came along she'd see Elijah's cold eyes, or sometimes she'd even see radiation suits and green eyes. They talked, speaking whatever the men would say, but she'd only focus on the green eyes and the screeching she could hear in her mind. She'd focus on the beeping that echoed around her, never speeding up and never slowing down or stopping; it would taunt her.

As her feet touched the ground for what must've been the eight hundredth time since she set out from the Lucky 38 two days ago, she found herself on the other side of the desert; the Mojave Outpost right in front of her with NCR men saluting her, the 'hero' that saved them from Caesar. All she did was kill a man and half his army, finding god in the process. Not God form the Madre, the guy in the sky.

She sombrely walked through the groups of soldiers hoping they get autographs and see the 'hero'; they were fresh, barely old enough for their first chin hairs to sprout, but every time she looked at them she was reminded of Dean. That ghoul was no more human than the rest of them- they forwent any form of resentment for each other in favour of working together- and had blue eyes that screamed 'innocent'. Yet they hid secrets behind them, the eyes a mask for the true monstrous eyes he hid.

She could hardly say anything though; Six, herself, hid secrets so vile, so evil that one would think she was Caesar's second in command, or Caesar himself. She had a dark past, hence the reason she became Six in the first place. She had a real name once, one beyond The Courier, or Six. She had a family, a home she constantly filled with smiles and frowns, a place she could call her home without hesitation.

She used to have a girl back there, waiting for her to come home every day from her dangerous job working from jobs such as a courier for a military power, or a bodyguard for the Gun Runners.

Sarah; her name was Sarah.

Then...then she got that package, and it all changed.

At first she thought it was nothing, a simple delivery to a military power she'd never heard of- the NCR, she later discovered. The package was fairly light, so she assumed it was some form of documentation or a bundle of non-classified yet highly needed Intel from a scout, or some sort of cache of much needed caps- they may be militaries, but the people she used to work for needed caps as much as the next person.

Then, she got called away from the ruin that is now known as The Divide; she'd left the package there, as per orders, inside a small home, thankfully abandoned. Then, as she turned around to look at the town she'd first met Sarah in, it went off. Nothing too spectacular; nothing nuclear either, but the nearby military bases evacuated after the Great War proved to be something of a liability in the end- radiation leaked everywhere when the small but powerful bomb went off. Nearby inactive nukes partially detonated due to the blast, or simply lay dormant. But the blasts rendered the place desolate, void of life and sound. Mutants roamed around, Deathclaws snatching up those that did live through it. Unknown mutated...people, she guessed, burrowed under the ground, glowing white eyes vanishing beneath the dust and debris left over from the blast, large clawed hind legs the last thing she saw of them.

It was two days later when she'd realised Sarah was in that town.

Five days later she took the job to transport a small poker chip to the other side of the Mojave.

And a day after that, after all of her suffering, she thanked the man with the silver gun that was pointing to her face. To say this 'Benny' person was shocked was quite the understatement- he asked why she'd thank him before he pulled the trigger twice, and she spoke without hesitation, the Kahns behind the man frowning with pity.

"Because everything I had and once was is dead; you're doing me a favour."

Benny then inquired as to why, exactly, she wished to die, what had happened, so on and so forth. For a man about to blow your brains horizontally from the back of your skull, he was awfully polite and generous. He untied her, gave her some whiskey, and she and the Kahns spent an entire night in the cemetery.

She regaled her tale, her long and blood-drenched tale, and Benny, in turn, told her why she needed to die- his logic seemed sound; she needed to die because to him she was a loose end.

So, just for display, she got on her knees, allowed them to tie her hands and bind her feet, and looked at Benny with a look of thanking.

Then the sound of a pistol shooting once went off, and she felt blackness.

But a stupid robot decided to dig her twitching body out, took her to a doctor, and after the Goodsprings incident, she wandered aimlessly, travelling. Against the information and the warnings she received, Six- her new name- decided to go through Sloan, sneaking past the Deathclaws that didn't see her and blowing the heads off of those that did. She was quite the marksman after all- a fitting weapon for her would usually be a silenced Anti-Material rifle, but she settled for a simple Trail Rifle instead.

Fast forward eight days, and her starving, lonely, tired self found Vegas; she was just wandering, but somehow Vegas turned out to be her destination; along the way she'd saved a couple of troops from the Khans, liberated Bittersprings, taught soldiers how to shoot straight at Camp Golf and saved a suffering PTSD 1st Recon Sniper from herself.

But back to the now of things; she'd made her way to the saloon below Ghost's sniper nest- Ghost and she were quite good friends. Six had to, once, escort her and a band of lost NCR troops through what is now The Divide, back when it wasn't destroyed by her own hand.

To say Ghost was shocked to see her was a gross understatement.

She could see the glowing green eyes looking at her fomr all sides, and her free left hand gripped the revolver at her hip as though it would slip through her fingers like water. The green eyes glowed brighter, but dimmer as the alcohol she sipped began to take effect- she was by no means a drinker, but Six had realised that the only good use for alcohol these days was to erase the past. Hopefully she'd never see the red mist or the green eyes or the creeping shadows. Or she'd never hear the sound of bear traps, or inhuman screeches, or beeps.

Then, just as the whiskey set in the help her drown out her thoughts she turned to her side, where she could feel eyes radiating pity staring at her.

And that was the day she met Rose of Sharon Cassidy.


End file.
